Good Friday
by sugahcat
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale watch the Crucifixion. Crowley wonders why an almighty God damns his angels and asks his Son to die. Angsty, w. C/A slash. -complete-


This is an angsty little fic I wrote whilst procrastinating. I guess it's not that bad, but I don't like it that much either. *shrugs* Tell me what you think.

I stole the idea of blood tears from, uh, someone. I'm not sure who did it first. And vampires are demon's (at least in some mythologies) and they cry blood tears (in some literature :D). Meh. Whatever. Apologies to whoever I stole the idea from, but it's a damned good one. And I don't know if this has already be done, but I've not read it if it has. I know the C/A soulmate thing's been done, but hey. I love the idea of soulmates (as a lot of my other fics will contest). 

Disclaimer:Not mine. Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's. 

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Good Friday  
sugahcat

Aziraphale didn't want to be here in Jerusalem to witness the death - the execution - of the Son of God. It was hot, it was sticky, and most of all, he was almost wondering about the sanity and goodness of the Ineffable Plan. His thoughts were wrenched for a moment back to Heaven, before the Fall, to an angel - his angel, his soulmate - with long black hair and a frightened look on his face telling him how he was wondering about the exact same thing. He had Fallen. The thought made the angel's heart break, not for the first time. Well, he and Crowley had agreed when they stepped onto this planet not to discuss it. Aziraphale tried not to think about it as well. But it was hard. 

Being here was too. The execution was to be neither pleasant nor quick. Crucifixion, Aziraphale remembered, shuddering. Walking up to the roadside he saw a crowd gathered to see Jesus as he passed. Aziraphale almost felt ill. Although he was fascinated by humans and loved them, they could sometimes show the foulest traits imaginable. Their bloodlust was one of these. Sighing and walking up the edge of the crowd, he made his way toward the front, and saw to his surprise a familiar dark-haired, slim-hipped figure. 

"Crowley?" He asked, almost startled by the demon's presence. 

"Aziraphale," came the answer as the angel moved past a crying woman. He was startled to hear not glee or satisfaction in the demon's voice - the murder of anyone was evil after all, and evil was Crowley's business. But the voiced was filled with sadness, tinges of bitterness and helplessness on the edges. Not for the first time, Aziraphale was amazed at how the demon's voice could imply so much, no matter what he said. Maybe it was just because they knew each other so well. As he came to his side, he looked at him. He was looking like demons shouldn't look at the crucifixion of the epitome of goodness. He looked endlessly sad, almost as if he were going to cry. If demons could cry. 

"What are you doing here? Surely the legions of Hell don't wish to interfere in this?"

"No. I just... Wanted to see. If He'd really do it."

Aziraphale looked at the demon curiously. He wasn't sure what he meant. "I don't understand-"

"Good." 

Aziraphale wasn't sure he understood. He waited a few more moments, and when Crowley didn't explain, said: "Well?" 

Crowley sighed. "For an all-loving God He seemed to create many things just to destroy them. How can a God create the Morningstar only to have him rebel?" He asked bitterly before continuing. "Create us to be the other part of each other, whilst making it my fate to Fall?" They avoided each other's eyes. They hadn't talked about it for four millennia now and no good could come from talking about it now. It was strangely comforting to know that Crowley still thought about him, though.

"Well, it... It's ineffable, isn't it?" Aziraphale said. Crowley didn't answer, but Aziraphale felt there was a great deal he could have said. He was glad he didn't. He didn't want to think like that. He didn't want to Fall. "And He has to die, to save the souls of humanity." Again Crowley said nothing for a while, until he saw Aziraphale looking at him with a question in his eyes. 

"You don't want to know, angel."

"I don't understand. You don't seem to believe it."

"I _don't_ believe it. Maybe it's because of what I am. What I was made to be," he added bitterly. "But I don't see why anyone has to die. God's all-knowing and all-powerful. Nothing like this has to happen."

"But it's His way of showing the people His love for them." Aziraphale's voice was a little less sure this time. Crowley looked like he could say something more but didn't. Aziraphale was definitely glad this time. He didn't want to hear any more of the demon's comments. They made a dangerous amount of sense. A murmur a little way away, and they both looked down the road. An entourage of Roman soldiers accompanied a bloody, bruised but not broken man, bent under the weight of a heavy wooden cross. People jeered and cried as the Christ passed them by. As Aziraphale watched, he glanced at Crowley, and started to see a bloody tear run down the demon's face. Crowley reached out a hand, and his fingers brushed against the skin of the first Roman soldier in the group. The soldier looked back at their prisoner suddenly, and pointed to a strong-looking man stood beside the angel. 

"You! Carry that cross for him!" He ordered, and the man obeyed, looking uncomfortable. The other soldiers looked at the one who had given the order oddly, but let the stranger take the cross from Jesus. Free of his burden, Jesus straightened a little, and looked at Crowley thankfully as He passed. As the entourage moved on, the crowd dissipated, until only the angel and the demon were standing by the road. 

"Why did you do that?" Whispered Aziraphale, confused. Crowley had made the soldier force someone else to carry Christ's burden, for a little while at least. Why would a demon show compassion to the Son of God? It didn't make sense.

There was a pause, and then Crowley looked up to the sky, another red tear running down his face. "Can you keep a secret?" He asked quietly. 

"Of course."

"Even though I doubt, and I despise Him for letting me Fall, for making me leave you," the word's hit Aziraphale like a rockfall, "I still love Him. Strange, huh?"

Words failed Aziraphale for a moment. He was too busy trying to get his emotions under control. He realised exactly what Crowley had just said. Crowley still loved God - and still loved him. He wanted to take the demon into his arms, to wipe the tears away, to be with him. But he couldn't. He _couldn't_. Crowley wiped his eyes, and looked across at Aziraphale. 

"You going to watch it end?"

"I feel I must," he said, managing to find his voice. Crowley nodded. 

"Shall we, then?"

"You're going?"

"I feel I must," Crowley quoted, with a small smile. 

"It's not very demonic of you."

"No," agreed Crowley. As Aziraphale looked at him, a wondering about why they had been torn apart slid into his mind. He pushed it aside. They wandered over to the hill of Golgotha and watched for the many hours that it took the Christ to die. Aziraphale tried to remember why this was happening, that this would lead to salvation for humanity. But watching the man who had loved and taught so many die so slowly, so painfully overshadowed the joy that may be felt in the future. He felt a tear slide down his face, and then his eyes fluttered open as he felt the tear being wiped away. Crowley's fingers were still resting on his cheek lightly, ever so lightly, but the contact was enough. They held each other's eyes, and Aziraphale saw need in his counterpart's eyes. Not a lustful need, but a need to be allowed completeness. A need that would never again be fulfilled. Aziraphale felt another tear run down his cheek. 

"Don't cry," whispered Crowley. "Isn't this meant to be a joyous moment?" Aziraphale nodded miserably, and was horrified to hear himself sob. Crowley snaked his arms around the angel, and Aziraphale accepted the comfort gratefully. Not just because for the first time in more than 4000 years he was in his soulmate's arms, either. 

"My God, my God, why did you leave me?" An anguished voice cried out from the cross above their heads. It seemed to wake them both up from the dream of togetherness they had been sharing. Crowley pulled back and his expression closed off. He stepped back from Aziraphale, who felt his heart break again. He turned his gaze to the cross, and watched as life left the body of Jesus, and his tears fell again. He didn't look at Crowley and Crowley didn't look at him. He left without a word, and Aziraphale let him go. He knew Jesus would return soon, and that would mean deliverance for humanity. He was glad for them. But it didn't stop the pain of knowing his soulmate had been ripped from him. For a time, a long time, he'd been angry, blaming Crowley for letting himself Fall. And now he was dangerously close to thinking 'But angels don't have free will. He couldn't choose to Fall', of thinking about all the other things the demon had said today. He stopped himself just in time, and left the soldiers to take down the body of Christ, and went to get drunk enough so that he couldn't think of anything. It worked well, but the next day the thoughts returned, but he managed to convince himself it was because of the ineffability. That he shouldn't question God's will. It was enough, for the time being, but everytime he saw Crowley, he would wonder. 


End file.
